First blood to Redknapp in the cold war against Sir Clive

"Harry Redknapp will have to be a very good football manager if he is going to deal with Clive week in and week out." These were the less than complimentary words of Jeff Probyn shortly after the Lions' disastrous tour of New Zealand and right now it looks as if the old warhorse was right on the money. The odds weren't exactly long. We are talking irresistible force and immovable object. "Imagine a man of my stature, reputation and ability having to put up with him cramping my style" is what they must both be thinking.

It's one hell of a rocky marriage. Maybe they'll kiss and make up, go to the Christmas Party dressed as Laurel and Hardy and make light of it all in a custard pie fight. I have my doubts, though. This really does look like another fine mess. At the moment it's rumbling like Pompeii in the days before Vesuvius erupted or Pompey in the days before Harry erupted.

Sir Clive Woodward is on a rumoured £500,000 a year to do what he does and I know what you are wondering. What does he do? Well, last time I asked Harry on Five Live, he said Clive was doing a great job looking after the medical side of things. Indeed he emphasised that by repeating it, so I will too. He was looking after the medical side of things. Now, there are only so many tubes of Deep Heat and packets of Nurofen that a man can buy but maybe he whiles away the time by emptying them on to the floor and marking out the tactical formations he will use to glorious effect when the chairman Rupert Lowe fixes it for him to be a real-life, grown-up soccer coach. 1-4-5. That'll get them talking.

What else can possibly be occupying that big brain and restless mind? Planning is Woodward's absolute forte and his attention to fastidious detail is as celebrated as it is derided but he does do it incredibly well. I wonder what he is planning now. Clive also has a hand in youth development and was given his head when some of the young players were blooded in the recent Carling Cup defeat by Mansfield Town. Redknapp made his feelings known.

"I keep hearing every day how good these players are and this was an opportunity for them," he said. "They knock on my door and ask when they'll get a chance. Well, they've shown me what they can do, so they shouldn't knock on my door again". I think that's what they call a big hit back in rugby.

Woodward's new-found enthusiasm for fresh blood is curious given that he didn't apply it on the Lions Tour, and there the newer players were at least proven talents, not callow youths. In New Zealand Sir Clive turned termite. He went for dead wood. But of course it's an entirely different consideration when your name is on the door and the pressure is on your neck.

Will Clive's name ever be on the manager's door? Well, Harry damned him with a sweet chariot load of faint praise last week. "He's an intelligent man. If he went straight into management he would be out the door before he got started." Thwack! We've all been on the receiving end of comments like that. You tend to forget the "intelligent man" part. After recovering, Clive brushed himself down and on Monday a friendly feature interview appeared in the Times in which he played a blinder, protesting that he's just learning the ropes and will not even have his coaching certificate for two years - two years for his influence steadily to grow.

Meanwhile Lowe continues to project an image of perfect harmony at St Mary's. The Jason St Juste affair says it all. The talented 20-year-old arrived from Darlington in a deal signed, sealed and delivered by Clive. Pointedly Harry said he knew nothing about St Juste. If that is harmony, you should hear my three-year-old blowing the bejesus out of a recorder.

Harry Redknapp has made it abundantly clear that as soon as anyone interferes with his position, he'll be off and I'm sure he will and well before England win another World Cup.

Ferguson runs out of people to talk to

Oh great helmsman and Father of the dream. Dear wise leader of the Red Army and upholder of the eternal spirit. Truly, your achievements are remarkable and manifold and your virtues and genius celebrated the world over. Those who make ill-informed criticism of you must be chastised and know their grave errors. They will be punished. They have fallen prey to reactionary lies and pernicious propaganda; seduced by the twisted logic of the wolves, cow devils and enemies of truth. They are paper tigers. They are lickspittle lackeys and bourgeois running dogs of Abramovich the Russian Imperialist and Wenger the French colonialist. Now Sir Alex. Can I have an interview, please?

The above may be the only way. Bob Dylan is more likely to speak to little Ant and Dec than Fergie is to the BBC and now even MUTV has blotted its copybook. This reminded me of his boycott of Aberdeen's Northsound Radio when I was their breakfast jock back in the mid- 1980s and he was the amazing manager of the only team in town and the best in Scotland. The Aberdeen legend Joe Harper, portly but perceptive, was our analyser. He ventured some mild criticism of Ferguson's tactics. All hell broke loose. Colleagues remember the hairdryer blowing like a hurricane. Translate this soliloquy back into Govan vernacular and you will get an idea. "Keep that wee plump cove away from the flipping radio or else you'll not flipping well be hearing from me again, you coves." He did not talk to us for months.

Remember when Sir Alex took ages deciding whether or not to retire from Old Trafford? Maybe he'd had a shard of self-doubt, was furious about it and took so long making his mind up because he was not talking to himself any more.

Bulldog Barwick

When Brian Barwick was head of ITV sport he hired me as an anchor or something sounding very similar, on the 1999 Rugby World Cup Team. I saw him at close hand. I was mediocre but he was very impressive; a shrewd operator. If I read him right, he's a meat and two veg man. He's Eddie Large not Eddie Izzard. He's bubble and squeak not foie gras. He's Saturday Night and Sunday Morning not Les Enfants du Paradis. In his position as PFA (Post Faria Alam) chief after Sven jumps or is pushed he is no more likely to hire a foreign coach than he is to bring back David Davies's PA. It ain't going to happen. Allardyce, Bruce, Curbishley, McClaren, Pardew, Pearce, Robson and, my favourite, Mike Bassett. Let battle commence.

White heat

A good friend of mine said he felt as if he had been picked for England this week. Five Live's Arlo White, a fantastic broadcaster, is joining the BBC team on the cricket tour of Pakistan. When he told me, he could hardly contain his excitement. It is a great attitude. The minute broadcasters lose that feeling is the moment they disappear up their own backsides. I remember handing over to Arlo in Athens, just before our coxless four set off. I had mentioned the old school ties of the boys in the boat and some old tosh about a gold won on the playing fields of Eton. Arlo picked up by saying that one product of Winstanley High School, Leicester, was just thrilled to be there, just as he will be in Pakistan. I'll raise a pink gin to him.